


trapdoors

by vvelna



Series: magician au [3]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvelna/pseuds/vvelna
Summary: It’s been three months since Phil hired Dan to be his assistant, and they’ve finally got an offer to perform a magic show.





	trapdoors

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is part of my magician au series. it was written for @quercussp on tumblr, who gave me the prompt "falling in love" :)

Dan’s sat at a table in _Rosie's_ —the coffee shop where he first met Phil—busily typing away on his laptop as he confirms registrations for a “Mummy and Me” yoga class.  
  
The coffee shop part wasn’t the main draw of the establishment; they made their money through renting out the rooms behind the main shop area to various groups for recreational activities, classes, and meetings. Phil is “technically the owner” (his words) of _Rosie’s_. When he first told Dan about it, he briefly mentioned having inherited the property, then swiftly moved on.  
  
Phil got Dan a job at _Rosie’s_ right after he hired him to be his assistant. Dan greatly appreciated that, as the last thing he wants is to have to move back home now that he’s lost the security of his maintenance loan to keep him afloat. He still hasn’t told his parents he dropped out of university. He doesn’t speak to them much, except for perfunctory text message exchanges with his mum, where they both claim to be just fine and leave it at that.  
  
Dan doesn’t make coffees, or food and drink of any kind. Instead he makes photocopies, staples pamphlets together, answers emails. It’s boring work but it pays surprisingly well. Phil works at an ad agency, doing editing and post-production work for TV adverts, and after his shift he comes back to the shop and they practice magic in one of the back rooms.  
  
Sometimes they go back to Phil’s apartment, where their practice usually transitions into watching movies together or playing video games during one of their frequent “breaks.” Dan values this time with Phil so much he sometimes gets anxious anticipating it—a physical itch and thrum beneath his skin and a grind to his teeth. He gives the work his all so Phil will let them call it a night and relax. Sometimes they just talk for hours. Dan holds a lot back, but he gives up more of himself than he has to anyone in a long time.  
  
If they stay up too late, Dan might fall asleep on the sofa, or pretend to. In the morning he lies perfectly still and listens to the sound of Phil moving about the apartment—the heavy drone of the shower, irritated beep of the kettle, the soft songs he hums under his breath. Phil leaves him little notes on the breakfast bar, and when Dan’s sure he’s left, he jumps up off the sofa and runs to read them. They’re always more or less the same—a good morning, an invitation to help himself to anything in the kitchen, a reminder of their practice if they have one that night. They aren’t special. Dan keeps them anyway. He shoves them in his pockets, and when he gets home he digs them out and drops them in a bedside drawer. He’s amassed a pile of them, all curling together like fallen leaves.  
  
Phil has never been round to Dan’s. He’s never asked and Dan has never invited him. He doesn’t want Phil to see the shabby, soulless place he spends all his time in when he’s not at _Rosie’s_ or with him.  
  
It’s been three months since they began working together, and they haven’t booked a single gig. Phil posts little videos of them performing on YouTube, but they rarely break a hundred views. Dan helps him set up a website, and they put a link to it on the shop’s site, but it doesn’t get much traffic. Dan constantly fears that his time with Phil is swiftly coming to an end. The whole magic act thing isn’t going to work out. Phil will let him keep his job, of course. He’s a kind person. But he’ll have no reason to keep spending time with Dan.  
  
Dan shakes himself out of his thoughts and back to reality. He’s typed the same sentence three times in the email he’s drafting.  
  
The little bell above the shop’s door chimes and Phil is rushing inside. Dan jolts in his chair at the sight of him; it’s hours too early for him to be out of work. Phil’s cheeks are rosy from the cold, the buttons of his coat mismatched with the holes.  
  
“Dan! Dan Dan Dan!”  
  
In his haste to sit down next to Dan, Phil nearly sends the chair toppling over. Dan reaches out to grab him but stops himself right before he makes contact. Phil doesn’t seem to notice, he just grips the edge of the table and steadies himself. He puts both hands on Dan’s arm and shakes him gently. Phil is always touching him when they talk—casual little pats and taps, a hand lingering on an arm or shoulder. Dan usually hates that kind of thing, but with Phil he more than tolerates it. He tolerates a lot of things about Phil that he might detest in other people.  
  
“We did it, Dan!”  
  
His face is so close. Dan can see the flecks of yellow in his irises. He’s pretty sure a bit of spit has hit his cheek, but he can’t move to wipe it away. He makes a questioning noise.  
  
“A show, Dan! Someone wants us to do a show!”  
  
Dan’s eyes travel down to pale pink, slightly chapped lips, then back up to blue eyes. Phil is searching his face, probably for some trace of emotion, some proof that he’s processed his words.  
  
“A magic show?”  
  
“No, a gameshow. Yes, of course!”  
  
Dan smiles. Phil is so happy. He’s happy, too, he thinks. Or maybe just relieved. He’s not sure he remembers what happy is supposed to feel like. Good moods just seem like brief reprieves from the ever-present sense of dread that weighs down his body and muddies his thoughts.  
  
No, he must be happy when he’s with Phil. As happy as he can be, knowing that it’s all going to end.  
  
Phil is still talking.  
  
“…at a primary school, about an hour or so outside the city. It’s two weeks from now, and we’re working out the details…”  
  
Dan smiles and nods.  
  
*  
  
They’re in the back of a car that Phil has hired to drive them to the school. Dan isn’t sure why they didn’t take a bus first to get closer, but he doesn’t ask. They’re not heading to the show, but to a meeting with the head teacher and some other staff. Apparently they had only requested to meet with Phil, but he’d insisted that Dan come along.  
  
“It wouldn’t make any sense for you not to. You’re as much a part of this as me.”  
  
The school grounds come into view. A fountain stands at the center of the circular drive, and topiary animals watch them pull up. It’s nothing like any school Dan has ever attended, but it still brings back memories. His heart beats heavily and he feels nauseated. The shadows of words, looks, and fists pass through him.  
  
Phil had stopped speaking halfway through the drive. Dan turns to him and sees that he’s gripping the edge of the seat, fingertips pressing into the leather upholstery. His head is turned to the window, his shoulders more hunched than usual, like he’s preparing to fold in half. Dan wants to reach over and lay his hand over Phil’s, but he doesn’t. There are boundaries. He can’t touch Phil the way Phil touches him, because the intent behind it would be different. Dan doesn’t just want to be friendly and comforting; he wants so much more.  
  
When the car stops they sit in silence. The driver turns and looks over his shoulder at them.  
  
“We’re here,” he says, expectantly.  
  
Phil unfreezes and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. Dan opens his door and steps out of the car, wobbling a bit on his feet. He keeps his eyes on them as he follows Phil up the steps and through the door, to a desk where Phil has a brief, pleasant conversation, then down long halls. The floors are smooth and shiny, marbled grey with tiny flecks of silver like bits of mica. His eyes trace paths between each one, forming constellations out of stars. He’s vaguely aware of the sound of children behind classroom doors, and of Phil conversing with the woman leading them. Dan thinks about Phil and how safe yet scared he makes him feel. Every moment they spend together, he’s either floating or waiting for the floor to open up beneath his feet.  
  
Dan snaps back to attention when they stop walking. They’ve reach another woman and a man. The second woman introduces herself as the head teacher and shakes both his and Phil’s hands. The man introduces himself as the director of something. Extracurricular programming? Activities? Dan doesn’t quite catch it.  
  
“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Lester,” says the head teacher, “Mr. Wilcox and I would like to speak to you privately first. Mr. Howell, you are welcome to wait here,” she gestures to a bench by the door to the office they’re stood outside of, “or Miss Payne can lead you back to the lobby.”  
  
Everyone is looking at Dan, awaiting a response. He glances back down the hall, then sees Phil shaking his head out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“I’ll just sit here, if that’s alright?”  
  
“Of course. We won’t keep you waiting long.”  
  
Mr. Wilcox opens the office door for Phil and the head teacher, whose name Dan has completely forgotten. Phil hangs back.  
  
“Would you mind giving me a second? I just need to tell Dan something.”  
  
Mr. Wilcox smiles and disappears into the office, leaving the door ajar.  
  
Phil moves toward Dan, pulling his phone out and unlocking it. Dan is surprised when his own phone vibrates in his pocket. Phil’s name is on the screen.  
  
Phil moves even closer and whispers in Dan’s ear, raising goosebumps along his arms though they’re bundled in the warmth of his coat sleeves.  
  
“I’ll put it on speaker so you can listen.”  
  
Then he’s gone and the door closes with a click and a low, solemn sound.  
  
Dan sits on the side of the bench farthest from the door, and presses his phone to his ear. He tries to breathe as quietly as possible. The voices are muffled—Phil must have his phone back in his pocket—but he can still make out most of the words, especially Phil’s. He sounds nervous, his responses slow and stilted. Dan wishes he could be in the room with him.  
  
The conversation is boring. Dates, times, set-up. He pulls his feet up onto the bench, not caring if it’s rude.  
  
“Lastly, we need to talk to you about your assistant, Mr. Howell.”  
  
“Dan? What about him?”  
  
Dan’s heart pounds. His body freezes.  
  
“He seems like a wonderful fellow, but we were hoping—for this performance—that you could bring a different assistant.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“Maybe a nice young lady.”  
  
“A nice young lady,” Phil repeats. There’s an edge to his voice that Dan has never heard before.

“Yes, we just feel that your performance would be better suited to this environment if you used a different assistant.”  
  
“There are no other assistants. It’s just Dan.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lester, but try to understand. Our students are young and impressionable. When we watched the videos of your performances, we noticed certain… _aspects_ which we believe may be inappropriate for this age group.”  
  
The muscles in Dan’s legs are cramping. He wants to run. He wants to throw up. But he can’t move.  
  
“I don’t understand at all. Are you saying it’s inappropriate for us to perform together because we’re both men?”  
  
“It’s more the nature of your interactions, Mr. Lester. There is a certain—forgive my wording, I don’t mean to offend— _homoerotic_ quality.”  
  
Dan is shaking. He’s going to faint. He’s going to topple forward off the bench and just die. He wishes he would. He’s mortified. Terrified. What did they see when they watched him? What had he unintentionally revealed? Had Phil noticed too—the way Dan looked at him, the way he reacted when Phil touched him?  
  
Dan ends the call and stands up, shoving his phone back in his pocket. His vision goes black for a second, a rush of heat moving through his skull. He needs to leave. He’ll call a cab, find his way to a bus station. He needs to get away. Anywhere. Far from the school, from Phil. It was all fucked, everything. He knew all along that he was risking too much by letting himself get close to Phil. He knew and he did it anyway. And now it was ruined.  
  
A chair scrapes back across the floor in the office. Phil must have moved to the door, because Dan can hear him clearly when he speaks.  
  
“I’m sorry, but I find your request unreasonable, and I’m afraid we won’t be able to do the show.”  
  
Someone replied, but their voice was just a low hum of sound.  
  
“And as per our written agreement, your deposit is nonrefundable. Thank you for your time.”  
  
Phil stumbles out of the office. His hands are trembling. He won’t look at Dan.  
  
“We…we should go. Now.”  
  
Dan walks slowly, his legs leaden and difficult to move. He follows Phil back down the hall, then takes the lead when he realizes that Phil has no idea how to find the way back to the lobby. They don’t speak.

The air outside is crisp and the sun is bright. Dan shivers and squints. There’s no car to pick them up; Phil hasn’t called for one yet because they left so abruptly. They make their way to a stone bench beneath a leafy lion, sitting on opposite ends and leaving a wide, empty space between them.  
  
They don’t look at each other. Dan knows he has to say something. The silence is unbearable. But he has to choose his words carefully. If he doesn’t want to lose Phil, he needs to convince him that the things those people said to him aren’t true. He doesn’t feel that way about Phil. He doesn’t dream about him at night or fantasize about him when he’s all alone. He doesn’t squirm with joy when Phil texts him, doesn’t spend all day looking forward to seeing him, like a puppy with its nose pressed to the window, wagging its tail. He’s straight. He’s not falling in love with him.  
  
Lies, lies, lies. He’s got to sell the illusion, make it real.  
  
“Shit, those guys were assholes, right? I’m glad we got out of there, I don’t know about you. It’s fine. Something else will come along. Less weird.” He’s talking too fast. His voice is chipper and hollow. “Maybe they thought we were a couple or something—which is ridiculous, I mean, there are plenty of male magic duos, and—”  
  
“Do you really think it’s ridiculous?” Phil asks, so quietly Dan barely hears him.  
  
Dan looks at Phil. Phil stares at his knees.  
  
“What?”  
  
Phil looks up, meets Dan’s eyes. “Us being a couple. Do you think that’s a ridiculous idea?”  
  
Dan can’t look away. His mouth hangs open as he frantically searches for something to say. Phil’s question feels like a trap. He doesn’t know how to climb back out of the hole he’s been digging for three months. At this point, it might be too deep to escape.  
  
Fuck it. A series of uncalculated decisions led him to Phil. He might as well tell the truth.  
  
“No. I don’t. I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all,” he says, not rushing and mumbling, but giving each word the time and space it deserves.  
  
He hopes Phil can understand the full meaning of his words. It’s not just the idea of two men being a couple that isn’t ridiculous to him—it’s them. Two specific people. Dan and Phil.  
  
Phil breaks eye contact and hugs himself. Dan keeps his mouth shut and waits for him to respond. He offers no justifications or further explanations.  
  
“So…if I asked you out on a date—not just hanging out on my sofa for hours—that wouldn’t freak you out?” There’s no cheekiness behind Phil’s words. He sounds scared. His hands tighten on his arms, like he’s bracing himself for Dan to explode.

Dozens of memories flash through Dan’s mind. Phil throwing his head back in laughter, his hand finding Dan’s knee as they sit side-by-side on the sofa. Smiley faces on all the notes hidden away in his drawer. A faint blush blooming on Phil’s cheeks whenever Dan tells a dirty joke. His name, said over and over again—with softness, happiness, enthusiasm. A fog of self-loathing clears and he sees the truth right in front of him.

Dan shifts his body over the cold, grey gap between them. When their thighs touch, Phil’s head snaps up. Dan’s heart is falling from a great height, through the open air without a parachute. But maybe Phil’s heart is falling beside his. Maybe they just need to catch each other.  
  
“No, it wouldn’t. That would make me…very happy.”  
  
Phil covers his face with his hands, a smile visibly forming in the triangle of space between them. He lowers them to his lap and Dan reaches over, finally takes his hand.  
  
Phil’s face lights up with excitement. He raises his brows and gasps quietly under his breath.  
  
“Dan! I’ve got such a good idea. Have you ever been to a skybar?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog/like on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/179944536925/tumblr_phwlbaSqhm1wm9q5f)
> 
> [ got a prompt for me? ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/post/179351285450/fic-prompts)


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